Until You (Fall Away Series)(14)

That night I saw Will kiss her, and the next day my dad called and asked if I wanted to come visit him for the summer.

I’d said ‘yes.’





“Eat.” James pushed a plate of meatloaf and potatoes in my face as soon as I sat down on the barstool.

I’d fallen asleep on Tate’s bed listening to Silverchair and hadn’t woken up until two in the afternoon. Her dad pounded on the door to wake me.

After I’d showered and gotten dressed in fresh clothes, I’d come downstairs to an even better smell than Tate’s shampoo.

I sat at the center island in the kitchen and stuffed the food into my mouth like I hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. Well, I guess I hadn’t. Before the summer with my father, my alcoholic mother wasn’t very nurturing. And after that summer, I wouldn’t let her be even if she’d tried.

“Don’t you have work?” I asked before taking a drink to wash down the food.

It was Friday, and I was missing school as well. I’d skipped yesterday when Madoc and I went to get tattoos, too.

That seemed like so long ago now.

“I took the day off,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

To deal with me.

“Sorry.” And I honestly was. Mr. Brandt was a good guy, and he didn’t deserve drama.

Leaning against the counter opposite the center island, James crossed his arms over his chest, and I knew a talk was coming. Fixing my gaze on my plate of food, I braced myself, because with Mr. Brandt, it was best just to shut up and take it.

“Jared, your mom will be gone for at least four weeks. You’re going to stay here while she’s away.”

“I’ll be fine at my house.” It was worth a try.

“You’re sixteen years old. That’s illegal.”

“Seventeen,” I corrected.

“What?”

“I’m seventeen today.” It was October second. I hadn’t realized until they’d dated my paperwork this morning at the jail.

That information didn’t give James any pause, though. “I spoke to a judge. One that I know well. I worked out a treatment, of sorts, in order for that mess from last night to stay off your permanent record.”

Mess from last night? That’s a strange way to describe it. “I nearly beat a guy to death,” I spit out sarcastically. How the hell were they going to keep that off my record?

His dark blonde eyebrows pinched together. “If that’s true, then why haven’t you asked how he is?”

I’d nearly beat a guy to death.

Yeah, even saying the words, I still didn’t care. Would I care if he were dead?

James continued. “In case you did care, he’s fine. Not great, but he’ll survive. Some broken ribs, a little internal bleeding that he went into surgery for last night, but he’ll recover.”

He’d be in the hospital for a while, but I was glad I hadn’t hurt him that badly. To be honest, most of last night swirled in my head like water down a drain. The more it moved, the more I lost. I could barely recall most of the attack. I remember hitting him with the lamp and kicking him in the stomach several times. He threw some shit at me, but in the end, he was the one on the ground.

Until that * cop showed up, and he stuck his knee in my back, pulled my hair, and called me every name under the sun while he cuffed me.

Why had I called the cops again? I still wasn’t sure.

“So the judge would like you to attend counseling.” I didn’t need to look up to know James was shooting me a warning look. “In exchange, you won’t have this latest episode on your record.”

“Absolutely not,” I shook my head and laughed at his joke.

Counseling? Most people pissed me off. And people up in my shit really pissed me off.

“That’s what I told him you’d say,” James bowed his head and sighed. “Jared, you’re going to have to start taking responsibility for yourself. You did wrong and the world doesn’t owe you anything. I’m not going to wipe your nose just because you come from a broken home and you think that gives you a license to behave badly. I call it the “Fuck up, own up, and get up” policy. Make a mistake, admit it, and move on. We all screw up, but a man solves his problems. He doesn’t make them worse.”

I should’ve just ate and kept my mouth shut.

“Did you f*ck up?” he asked, every slow syllable a challenge.